The Shadow House(4)

I opened my eyes and thought about the glorious distance between me and Sydney, the gigantic spread of national park with its creeks and cliffs, rainforest and swollen rivers. I looked at the hills, the trees, the water, and all those shiny new homes. Above them all was the sky, big and bright and full of potential.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

It will be fine.

There was nothing better than a fresh start.





ALEX





2


Just as I was soothing Kara and wondering what to do next, we met our first neighbour: a thin woman wearing a long linen dress and a yellow headscarf who came hurrying along the road from the direction of the gates. ‘Hello,’ she said, offering her hand for me to shake. ‘You must be our new arrivals. I’m Jenny, I live upstairs.’

‘Alex,’ I said, grasping her palm. ‘Lovely to meet you. Thanks for letting us move in at such short notice.’

‘My pleasure. And no need to thank me – I mean, I suppose I’m technically the landlady, but we don’t really think of each other in those terms here. The land belongs to everyone.’ She chuckled self-consciously. ‘So where are you from? Is that an accent I can hear?’

‘Yes, I grew up in England but I’ve been in Australia now for almost as many years. We’ve just moved from Sydney.’

‘Ah, Pine Ridge will be quite the change for you, then. Here’s the key. Sorry I wasn’t around when you arrived; I only popped out for ten minutes. Did you find the place okay? Can I help you with anything?’

I liked Jenny immediately. Despite her gaunt face and skinny frame, she had a lively, infectious energy.

‘Well, hello there, sweetie,’ she said, tickling Kara under the chin and making her giggle. ‘Aren’t you precious?’ She even got a smile out of Ollie, which, at that point, felt like a small miracle.

Jenny kept Kara entertained while Ollie and I dragged our life from the car like guts from a fish, chatting cheerfully as we hauled it all up the steps. She was so kind and eager to please that I couldn’t bring myself to mention the dead bird in the box; I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot by complaining.

Fortunately, I couldn’t find fault with anything else. The unit itself was delightful. The living area held a sofa, rug, coffee table and small TV. Light spilled in through two good-sized windows and a set of sliding glass doors led to a small entertaining deck. The kitchen was light and airy, with a brand new electric oven and subway-tiled walls, and a bowl of yellow lemons had been placed on the timber-topped island bench, bright as a holiday in Spain. It was so cute I could’ve cried.

Jenny showed us where everything was and how it worked, and then just as she was leaving, a man appeared in the doorway carrying a bottle of wine and a brown paper bag.

‘Ah, Kit,’ Jenny said. ‘Good, I was just about to call down to the office. Alex, have you met our founder?’

‘Yes, of course.’ I gave Kit a friendly wave.

‘Alex!’ said Kit, enthusiastically. ‘So glad you made it.’

My stomach flipped. I’d forgotten how attractive he was. Tanned skin, a light beard and dark hair tied back in a man bun. A fit-looking physique pleasantly showcased in a muscle T and cut-off shorts. A smile as white and clean as a bedsheet drying in the sun.

Kit Vestey and I had met just once, by accident, outside a Bondi yoga studio several months earlier. Kara and I had been leaving our very first (and last, as it turned out) Mums and Bubs yoga class and we’d both been cranky: she’d missed a nap, and I was pissed off with all the rich-ass ‘mumpreneurs’ who were so much bendier than me and whose children were so much more compliant than mine. Kara had spent the whole class wriggling away from me and side-eyeing all the other infants as if to say, Designer nappies? Headbands? These are not my people – which, quite frankly, had been fair enough.

Despite my mood, however, I’d said hi to the guy handing out fliers in the lobby, because the way he’d smiled at me made me think I knew him. He asked me how I’d enjoyed my class, which seemed like confirmation that we knew each other, so we stood there for a while, chatting about yoga like old pals – and then he handed me a flier. Pine Ridge, it said. Create the life you want.

I realised then that, in fact, he was a total stranger, and I’d made the mistake of engaging with a street salesman. I started to make my excuses, but the feeling of déjà vu was so strong that I found myself lingering as he made his pitch. Community, sustainability, great for the planet, affordable housing, blah blah. ‘It’s not really my thing,’ I said in the end, ‘but it was nice to meet you.’

Days later, the name Pine Ridge was still stuck in my head, as was the guy’s warm smile. I kept thinking about the flier I’d tucked into my handbag.

And then one day, when things had got really bad, I went for a drive. Ollie had left for school, Stu had left for work. Kara hadn’t slept in what felt like months, so I was at a pretty low ebb. I’d just intended to drive around the block to get her to sleep, but for some reason I kept going, edging further and further out of the city, until I ended up on the freeway. I drove and drove, near stoned with exhaustion, wondering if perhaps I’d finally gone round the bend and would end up somewhere near Cape York … and then I saw an exit coming up, a slip road snaking off to the side, little white arrows on the tarmac pointing the way. My brain said, Turn here. So I did. Twenty minutes later, I saw the sign and realised my subconscious had driven me all the way to Pine Ridge.